


Steady Footing

by dearxalchemist



Series: The Triumvirate [2]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Adorable Nights, Alcohol, Between missions, Dancing, Established Relationship, F/M, Kissing, OT3, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 19:38:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6533716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearxalchemist/pseuds/dearxalchemist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His turtleneck is soft and thick, but just thin enough for her to hear the steady beat of his heart. Gaby sighs in content, closing her eyes. Her belly is warm with alcohol and her nerves are on a slow burn. She wants to dance but her ankle tells her no, so she settles for the beat of her Russian comrade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steady Footing

Napoleon does a much better job at dressing her wounds, but it’s Illya that has her ankle draped across his lap. Gaby’s head is cradled against her American’s thighs and his fingers are easing away the tension, running small little circles across her temples. Illya wraps the splint as delicately as he can, but Gaby still twists away. Her head turns in and Napoleon strokes his fingers along her jaw now. His hands are softer than Illya’s, no doubt from stealing things instead of traditional hard work. 

“Don’t pull so tight!” She grounds out the words as Illya wraps the dressing around her ankle, once, twice, and a third time. He pulls on it despite her pleading. Wrapping as carefully as he can while keeping things neat and tightly wound, her fingers curl into fists and shake threateningly at him. Napoleon’s hands move from her face and he takes a hold of her shaking fists. His thumbs pressing down on to her wrists just enough to quell her. Illya looks somewhat amused to the two of them, spying up at them through thick golden lashes. His hands are expertly tying her ankle tight before securing the wraps. He watches both his comrades before letting his fingers slide north of her damaged ankle. It’s a simple twist, it should be fine in a couple of days. Only Illya knows if he doesn’t wrap it, she will put too much pressure on the weak point and make matters worse for herself. 

Gaby’s shaking slowly ceases and she shifts her legs out, over Illya’s lap before she feels his calloused thumb brushing the underside of her calf. He is so careful with her, fingers barely pressing over her skin before he slides away. Napoleon’s hands loosen around her wrists and she can faintly hear his stomach rumbling close by. With a soft sigh, Gaby wiggles her ankle before looking up to the American, “Lunch?”

Napoleon cuts his gaze to Illya before answering the woman in his lap, “I thought you would never ask.”

——————

Despite her ankle all wrapped up, Gaby stands in the middle of the safe house. The radio is on and she is swaying. Her arms move carefully in one long motion up and over her head. Her left hand cradling a crystal glass, amber liquid spilling over her knuckles as she does so. 

“You're going to hurt yourself.” Illya speaks up from the novel in his hands. His eyes haven't left his book but he hasn't turned a page in twenty minutes. Napoleon however, doesn't stay seated. 

“She needs a partner Peril,” Napoleon drawls out slowly as he stands. His suit jacket is thrown over the back of the couch and he undoes his cufflinks before moving anymore. Extending a hand out, he takes a hold of her right wrist and spins her carefully. She turns under his arm, twirling on expert dancer’s legs only wincing slightly. When Napoleon draws her into his chest, she doesn't give him the chance to lean in and kiss her. Instead she closes the space with her crystal glass, downing the rest of the whiskey. 

A cheeky grin catches her lips and she pulls both hands back and snaps her fingers before setting down the empty glass. She sways again with the music and Illya has to hide his smile behind the novel. The three of them are broken and jagged pieces that fit surprisingly well. Even in their damp little safe house they are a perfect fit. 

“He is right you know.” Napoleon muses as his hands slip down as Gaby turns away from him. His palms slide over the curve of her rear before she slides away from him. She dances in a slight off balance with the wrapping on her leg. Making her way towards Illya and his book. 

She doesn't take his book, just his lap. Throwing her weight on his knees, Illya barely budged under her pressure. Instead he lifts his novel, pretending to still read even when she presses her head against his chest. His turtleneck is soft and thick, but just thin enough for her to hear the steady beat of his heart. Gaby sighs in contentment, closing her eyes. Her belly is warm with alcohol and her nerves are on a slow burn. She wants to dance but her ankle tells her no, so she settles for the beat of her Russian comrade. 

“Hear the ocean?” Napoleon muses softly before moving for Gaby’s glass. He takes it to the bar cart and instantly refills it. He pours himself a generous splash of the expensive stuff and doesn't even make a face when it burns all the way down his throat. 

“Even better,” Gaby smiles against Illya’s chest. Her fingers move up close to her cheek and she sinks her fingers into the fabric, “I hear something much more beautiful.”

Illya doesn't drop his novel, but he's in a sort of shock with no way to recover. In all his years on and off the field, he had never been called something beautiful. Beaten and molded into the perfect soldier by the KGB, he has only known a certain taste of ugly. Here with her though, with the both of them, he is considered more. It makes his heart race a little faster and brings a slight splash of color to his face. The little Chop Shop Girl is a work of art, but not refined like Solo is. She is rough edges and oil smudges. Solo is built like some sort of Greek statue. He's all smooth muscles and porcelain skin. He is the work of angels, Gaby the work of men, leaving Illya to the demons. 

“Do I get a chance to listen?” Napoleon asks with a dark brow raised in Illya’s direction. 

“Maybe next time Cowboy.” Illya speaks softly and makes a show of turning a page in his book but they both suspect he hasn't read a single word. Gaby hums against his sweater and turns her head up, blinking with blurry vision. Her eyes are glassy from the alcohol and her smile is lopsided. It's endearing really, even when she leans up to kiss him only to pull back when he starts to lean in. 

“Now that's not fair.” Gaby whines softly, lips twisting into a pathetic pout. She crooks a finger to Solo, sitting up in Illya’s lap. Her other hand moves to Illya’s book and she wrenches it free from his grasp. He manages to get it back only to gently mark his place and set the book aside. His blue eyes giving her a warning look but, Gaby pays him no mind. Instead she is focused on Solo who is moving impossibly slow to the both of them. He downs the rest of his glass and sets it down on the small coffee table before coming to stand in front of Gaby. 

She looks too pleased with herself. A smirk on her lips, her hips back against Illya’s and Illya’s hands are moving along the edges of her rib cage. She has played them right into the palm of her calloused little hands. 

“What isn't fair, darling?” Napoleon asks with a soft shake of his dark head when she reaches for his tie. Her fingers wrap around his tie and she tugs him down. Her head is tilted back in that fashion where she's just begging to be kissed but at the last minute the Chop Shop Girl pulls her ace. She ducks her head aside and pulls on Solo’s tie again. The American’s mouth hits the edge of Illya’s and its clumsy and ill prepared. It doesn't stop Solo though from righting the wrong. He turns his head and kisses Illya properly. His lips slanting over his partner's, soft at first and then it becomes something much more demanding. Soon they are out of breath, breaking away from one another. Gaby practically lets out a triumphant sound but before she can celebrate, Illya attacks one of her cheeks with a kiss while Solo gets the other one. They both kiss her cheeks loudly with an overexaggerated sound that echoes in the safe house. 

It makes Gaby laugh. She's drunk, flushed, and totally in love with the two men in her life. Her hands come up and she holds onto them there, on either side of her before Illya moves to drag his mouth along her throat and Solo nips at the edge of her earlobe. The room becomes a whisper of sighs and soft moans as they make the best of their safe haven. Clothes are forgotten and their bodies are endless. Where one ends, another begins and their lips never stop.

**Author's Note:**

> I did this all on my phone because I'm traveling but I couldn't get the idea of these three out of my head. If you spot any major flaws/errors please let me know. Again, this was done on my phone so who knows what autocorrect has done. I plan on carrying this little ot3 for a bit more. Thank you all for sticking with me.


End file.
